A Perilous Undertaking (Veronica Speedwell, #2)

by Deanna Raybourn

“You are not shy of spirits.” “I am not shy of most things, Lady Sundridge.”

“You find your own sex tedious?” “Invariably. We are educated out of common sense, curiosity, and any real merit. We are made to be decorative and worthy of display, with occasional forays into procreation and good works, but nothing more.”

“What ho! An educated female. Now that is an interesting creature.” “As is the artistic male,” I replied.

“About time,” she grumbled. “Mrs. Ramsforth said I was to put you to bed,” she told her master. He waved a vague hand. “Put me to bed! That makes me sound like a lettuce.” “Lettuce or no, bed is where you’re bound,”

He turned to Stoker. “Can you not talk sense into her?” Stoker gave him a pitying glance. “If you wanted her to leave this alone, you should have ordered her to investigate. And then offered to pay her.”

“Can his lordship reconcile the competing theories of evolution proposed by Darwin and Lamarck?” The fellow shook his head in bewilderment. “No, I am certain he could not.” “Then he is by far the least interesting of the Templeton-Vane brothers to me. His opinion therefore matters not at all,”

laughed but Stoker shot me a glowering look that might have quelled an army. “Miss Speedwell is no man’s concubine,” he told his brother severely. “In fact, she takes a decidedly modern view of relations—” “Stoker,” I cut in with a warning tone. “Don’t. You will only startle him and clearly he has delicate nerves.”

It has been my experience in dealing with the male of the species that the easiest way to get one to do as you wish is to encourage him to do precisely the opposite.

“I wish I had known you were following us, Mornaday. We would have done something far more scandalous than just attend the theater with his lordship.”

“Miss Speedwell, I am delighted to find my assessment of your liberal thinking is accurate. To meet a lady of such broad-mindedness is rare indeed. Stoker, if you don’t marry Miss Speedwell, I might.”

“Scientific curiosity? How so?” he demanded. “Because I had just lain with her twin brother and wondered if they shared a similar technique.” I put a pointed finger under his chin and pushed gently upwards. “Close your mouth, Stoker. You look like a carp.”

“What the devil do you mean ‘the next time’?” “The viscount has expressed a wish to share my company.” “The bloody hell he has!” Stoker exploded. “Heavens, Stoker, what difference does it make to you?” “This is just like him, thinking he can do as he damn well pleases because he is the lord of the manor,” he said savagely. He turned away, then loomed back, using his height to full advantage. “You are not to go anywhere with him. You are not to call upon him. You are not to receive him.” I was so astonished I very nearly laughed aloud. “You cannot seriously think I would permit you to dictate terms to me,”

“I can dictate these terms,” he said in a voice that was little more than a growl. “He has taken something of mine for the last time.” “I am not something of yours,” I reminded him, scalding him with the scorn in my voice. “I don’t care what bad blood there is between you, you do not get to tell me whom I see. You are not my husband!” I pressed my hands flat to his chest and heaved, but he did not move. His hands came up to grasp my wrists hard, and for an instant I saw something like hurt flicker in his gaze. “No,” he said slowly. “I am better than a husband. I am your friend.”

“Desmond? Who in the seven devils is Desmond?” “Our cat,” I said promptly. “Dashed under the wheels of a milk wagon.” “Poor flat Desmond,”

“You didn’t mean it?” “Not a word, which you ought to know,” he said, his tone mildly aggrieved. “I am rather disappointed that you didn’t, actually. You know my feelings about royalty and the general fragility of women.” “That royalty ought to be abolished and women are every bit as capable as men?” “More so,” he corrected.

There are times when every muscle, every nerve, screams for movement, when every instinct urges escape. But the instinct to fly is not always a sound one. There are occasions when only stillness can save you.

“When I most had need of you, you did not leave me. Whatever this thing is that makes us different, this thing that makes quicksilver of us when the rest of the world is mud, it binds us. To break that would be to fly in the face of nature.”